Teaser Fallout

     First off I want to thank everyone who read DM's teaser, I appreciate you taking the time to do so.  I got close to two hundred views which was way more than I had thought I would.
     Sadly putting it up turned out to be an exercise in dealing with disappointment.  With nearly two hundred views I ended up with five +1's, three comments (Two of those from friends.), and a whopping one feedback comment.
     One.
     And he hated it.
     Getting back to that in a second, I want to make it clear that I am grateful for every view and +1 I got.  Not bitching about that.
     I tried very hard not to get my hopes up.  I was under no delusions that my teaser was going to become some internet sensation or that every review would be a glowing report singing its praises to the heavens.  But despite my best efforts I was hoping for more than one feedback comment out of nearly two hundred views.  I cannot even begin to describe the perfect storm of self-doubt that inundated me.
     Was it boring?
     Did I screw it up?
     Was it really that bad?
     Or worse was it so blase and banal that it wasn't worth even leaving a comment to tell me it sucked?
     As the view count kept rising and nothing else, it was a bit difficult to keep moving forward.  I owe a big thanks to my Alpha reader Richard for keeping me going with his enthusiasm for the project.  There were more than a few times when the only reason I didn't quit was him asking me if I had finished the chapter I was working on yet.
    As for the one feedback comment I got I am actually okay with it being negative.  Cool as it would be for everyone to love my book I know that just isn't going to happen.  And despite his dislike of what he read his comment was constructive.  He didn't just type 'It sucks.  You suck.  Never make words again.', he was honest but polite and didn't leave things at him not liking it but told me why.  What it was that didn't draw him in, and other points about the content that in several cases were things that I had noted already and agreed with him on.
     One of the points he made was that the story was not focused on the zombies as much, that they felt simply like an obstacles for the characters to overcome.  Also he looked for more of a horror aspect which he felt was lacking.
     The horror part stuck with me because I had to ask myself, what kind of writer am I?  While there will be horror moments in the story (It IS the Zombie Apocalypse after all.) I don't feel the need to shoehorn it in their.  While I respect the horror genre, I'm not a fan and never really have been.  For me any moment whether its comedic, sexy, or scary should be part of the story not put there just to be there.
     I'm not a horror writer, my interest is in the characters.  Shows like 'Firefly', 'Farscape', 'Supernatural' are my influences, especially Supernatural.  The horror/scary elements are there but what drives the show is the Winchesters.
     The focus of 'Dead Moon' isn't the zombies, it's the characters.
     So in the end it just means that my book will not be that persons cup of tea.  And while I am saddened to lose a potential reader I am thankful that he took the time to read it, comment honestly, and wasn't a raging cock-bite about it.  Also as I said I did agree with several points he made and have implemented those changes.
     I didn't get what I wanted out of the teaser but the work goes on and it was probably a good lesson for me to have driven home.  Things aren't going to go like I expect and that's okay.

'Dead Moon' Teaser

This is my current project entitled 'Dead Moon'.  It takes places after the zombie pandemic has hit and my little group of adventurers is gearing up to head out...

     “Find us a way out kid?”

     “Maybe,” Seph said, “If you two can make it to the building next door, then we can get to that old truck I shut off earlier.”

     “How wide is the gap between the buildings?” Dean asked, putting the spare magazine in a cargo pocket before slipping a leather vest on over his shirt.  He stuck his fob watch with the compass on the inner lid into a small pocket of the vest and attached the chain to one of the button holes.

     “Fifteen feet?” Wu guessed finally picking a book, The Borrible Trilogy, putting it in his backpack.

     Dean shouldered his rucksack with a grunt and an immediate scream from the muscles in his lower back. “Seph we can't jump that.”

     “What about a makeshift bridge?” The gargoyle suggested. “We need to make this work because I couldn't see any other way, unless you want to fight our way out.”

     Wu blanched at the idea of trying to wade through a horde of zombies.  “I vote we try to bridge it.”

     “How?”

     “We could use my Uncles ladder," Wu said slipping his arms through the shoulder straps of his pack, the Odachi securely fixed to the side of it with several long strips of duct tape.  "The ceiling in the restaurant is pretty high, I use it to change the bulbs in the light fixtures.”

     “How tall is the ladder and where is it?” Dean asked.

     “It extends to twenty-four feet, and it's in that storage closet next to the kitchen.”

     “Sounds like a plan, let's get going.”

     They all turned to face the door, but no one moved so much as a step toward it.

     “Nothing is ever going to be the same, is it?” Seph said.

     Dean shook his head.  “No Sephiroth.  It won't.”

     “I cannot believe how scared I am right now,” Wu said.  “I may actually piss myself.”

     “Right there with you,” Dean said, nodding slowly in sympathy.

     Wu gripped the cleaver so tightly his knuckles turned white.  “Are we really going out there?”

     Seph walked over and lay a hand on Wu's leg.  “If we stay we die.”

     Dean stared at the door, his imagination working overtime to show him the myriad of bloody ways this could end.  A war for survival had been dropped on his head, and he felt the weight of it pressing down onto his shoulders.  He glanced over at Seph trying to comfort Wu.  Dean knew the kid had to be as scared as he was.  But Seph needed him, so did Wu.  Needed him to be strong and do whatever necessary to get them through this.  His own fear was irrelevant.

     Dean straightened his back against the new weight that had settled there, then walked to the door and opened it.  “We need to move.  Seph you’re in front.  Wu your next, I'll take the rear.

     Seph nodded, and followed by Wu they moved through the door, which Dean closed behind them.  With the power out the hallway was black as pitch.  Dean slipped the small flashlight out of the pouch on his belt and handed it to Wu.  “Keep it pointed down.  If you have to raise it, don't flash it around,” He whispered.  Wu nodded nervously.

     As they made their way down to the second level, Dean caught himself sniffing the air.  After having spent time as a wolf his human faculties seemed dulled to the point of barely functioning.  When shifting regularly he retained a measure of the heightened senses granted him as a wolf, and while nowhere near as sensitive or sharp as they were in his other skin, they were far superior to those of a human.  Since having turned his back on that for so long all his abilities had atrophied.  It left him uncomfortable having to rely on anyone's senses but his own.  Dean made sure to keep a watchful eye on Seph.  Those huge ears of his were just as good as any wolf, and while his olfactories were not as keen, they were far superior to his own at the moment.

     Dean slid the Glock into the paddle holster on his left side, drawing the khukuri with his opposite hand, as they passed through the double-doors leading into the restaurant.  There was no point in bringing more trouble down on their heads with gunfire.  In the main dining room chairs were scattered everywhere, tables knocked over; broken flatware and bent utensils reflected the crimson light.  Spilled food filled the air with a heady mixture of spices and fried noodles.

     Weaving their way through the minefield of shattered ceramic cups and teapots, they arrived at the supply closet off to the right of the kitchen.  Grabbing the keys from his pocket, Wu unlocked the door and opened it, shining the light around inside.  After hooking the crowbar into a belt loop and handing the flashlight back to Dean, Wu reach in and lifted the ladder, pulling it off hooks embedded in the wall. Carrying it horizontally across his body he turned to walk out.

     The only warning Dean got was a widening of Wu's eyes before something crashed into him from behind, driving him to the ground.  The weight of the pack driving the breath from his lungs when hit the floor.  Seph was on the zombie in a flash, the impact of his once again hardened body sounding like a bowling ball colliding with a side of raw beef.  Dean got to his feet wheezing, trying to catch his breath, when he saw Wu charge at him the ladder held like a battering ram.  Clipping his upper arm with the ladder as he passed, Wu hit the second zombie reaching for Dean in the chest, knocking it to the ground.

     Shoving the ladder away Dean jumped onto the zombie, one knee on its stomach the other pinning its left arm, and raised the khukuri.  Aiming for the neck, he brought it down, but the zombie's still struggling right arm threw the blow askew; the blade instead biting deep into the collarbone.  Pulling the khukuri free Dean slashed to his left, severing the arm just above the elbow, before swinging back to the right slicing through the zombie’s neck.

     Coughing as he stood, Dean put a hand over his mouth trying to suppress the noise.

     “You okay?” Wu asked, still holding the ladder.

     Dean nodded, furious with himself for letting two zombies sneak up on them, and checked the flashlight for damage before shining the red light around the restaurant.  “Seph?”

     “All clear,” the gargoyle said, hopping up from behind a table with a handful of napkins that he began cleaning himself with.

     Dean brought the light to his attacker and let out a soft whistle.  “No wonder we didn't hear it.”

     Wu set the ladder down and joined him.  “Damn.”

     The decapitated zombies' chest was gone, white rib fragments poking up out of the meat like skeletal fingers, a glistening, open cavity where the lungs and heart once sat.  Seph joined them, perched on the back of one of the few chairs still upright.  “The other is pretty much the same, only from the back.”

     “Why didn't you hear them coming up on us?” Wu asked nudging the severed head with the toe of his shoe.

     “I was focused on what you guys were doing,” Seph said guiltily.

     Dean’s frown deepened in irritation.  “We need to do better.  From now on someone is always looking behind. Damn things can come out of nowhere.” Grabbing a table cloth off the ground he wiped down the blade.  “Wu quit playing with that and grab the la-”

     “Jesus!” Wu shouted, jumping back with his right leg swinging frantically back and forth, startling Dean and Seph.

     “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Dean hissed.

     “Dude get it off!” Wu whispered frantically.

     Dean's amber eyes widened when he lit Wu's foot and saw the zombie's head there, the teeth locked onto the end of his shoe.  Wu slipped in puddle of spilled won ton soup and fell, landing on his back.

Raising his foot Dean stomped onto the lower jaw twice, crushing it.  Wu scrambled backward on his butt until his back hit one of the tables.  “Dude, what the fuck!?  How can a severed head still do that?”

     Grabbing the head by its matted hair, Dean raised it until they were face to face.

The eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made Dean pull his own head back, the things tongue wiggling at him like a bloody eel.

     “Frell me sideways,” Dean breathed in horrified awe.  “It really is destroy the brain or nothing.”

     Dean held the head out so Seph and Wu, who was pulling off his shoe to check his foot, could see.

     “Oh that's just creepy,” Seph said, frowning.  He weaved back and forth slightly, the eyes following him.  “How can it still bite?”

     “The muscles to close the jaw are mostly here,” He pointed to the underside of the jaw.  “Bet it wouldn't be able to open its mouth again.  Those muscles are mostly in the neck,” Dean drop-kicked the head through the kitchen door then put the light on Wu's foot.  “Did it break the skin?” he asked.

     Wu poked at his foot just above his toes and winced.  “Just bruised the hell out of them,” he said; relief heavy in his voice.

      “We need to get you some boots A.S.A.P.  Those sneakers aren't gonna protect you from a damn thing.”

     Wu nodded, pulling his sock and shoe back on.  “No argument here.”

     Dean held out his hand and grasping Wu‘s forearm pulled him up.  “Get the ladder and let's get the hell out of here.  Seph, direct Wu since I'll have the light.”

     “Werd,” Seph said climbing onto Wu's shoulder.

     Dean held the door for Wu, then fell in behind him.  They quickly made their way back up to the third floor and out onto the roof.  Wu came to a sudden stop as he passed out of the stairwell.  It was the first time in his life that he had ever been confronted by true darkness.

     As a child of the modern age there had always been some source of illumination.  Humanity liked it's lights brighter, longer-lasting, and as prevalent as possible.  Even during the occasional black out, some source of light was available.  Cell phones, battery-powered digital clocks, hand-held game devices.  Now there was nothing, the night completely unhindered.  For a moment Wu felt a kinship with his ancestors who once huddled in caves around a fire and gazed in trepidation at what lay outside the security of the light.

     For Dean it was less jarring and more welcoming.  As the door closed behind him it was like slipping into a silk robe, pupils dilated until nothing but a thin golden ring remained.  While his abilities were not a hundred percent, there were lingering effects.  His eyes adjusted quickly and soon he could see well enough that it was like moving around at deep twilight.  Raising his eyes he whistled low in admiration.  Not since his nights in the North Slope had he seen so many stars, the windows of the buildings surrounding them mirroring the sky above.

     Seph climbed up to his usual spot on Dean's left shoulder, draping his tail casually over the opposite side, his red eyes the only visible feature.  He leaned against the side of Dean's head, causing the swagman to tilt.  To Seph the endless shadow was like diving through cool water.  He eased through it like a shark, utterly at home.  “Wow,” he breathed.

     “Pretty night for the apocalypse,” Wu said quietly.

     Dean nodded.  “Seph?”

     “Yeah?”

     “At Padre's place, every night is like this.”

     “Really?”

     “Mm-hm.  More stars than you could ever count.”

     “Cool.”

     A flash lit the night, followed moments later by a deep rumbling.  The full moon painted the oncoming storm clouds with an ethereal glow as the wind began to pick up.  “Let's get moving.” Dean said, slipping the flashlight into it's pouch and reaching for the ladder.  They extended the ladder then laid it across the gap.  Seph crossed in a flash, looking like a cat running along the top of a fence.  Upon reaching the other side he melded half his body into the stone edge of the roof, gripping his end of the ladder; holding it firm.  Dean grabbed the opposite side to secure it.  “You first Wu, your lighter.”

     “So many fat jokes, so little time.”

     “Get your skinny ass over, before I throw you.”

     Wu took a deep breath lifted himself up onto the ledge.  On all fours he started to cross twice before stopping, eyes squeezed shut.

     “Acrophobic?” Dean asked.  Wu glanced back and nodded tightly.  Taking a deep breath he slowly started over.

     Near the half-way point Wu stalled, arms shaking.  It looked to Dean as though he was fighting to keep his eyes locked onto the opposite roof.

     “Look down,” Dean said.

     Wu went rigid, gaze snapping up, moments from giving in.  “What?!  You’re supposed to say don't look down!”

     “Yeah, but whenever you say that to someone they always look down anyway.  So... look down.”

     “You’re an ass!”

     “Mmmm, speaking of ass I'm loving the view of yours with you all bent over in front of me.  Muy caliente.”

     “Run Wu, run!” Seph said.

     “Oh Christ, alright I'm going, I'm going,” Wu continued on, the metal ladder creaking with every movement.

     “Don't hurry on my account,” Dean said making his voice deep, husky, and lispy in an it-puts-the-lotion-in-the-basket kind of way.  “You been working out?”

     “Dude.  Trying not to die here.”

     “Hey crouching tiger, wanna see my hidden dragon?”

     “Shut up!”

     Seph snorted and snickered with suppressed merriment.

     Wu made his way over, falling off the opposite side.  He stood and with a trembling hand flipped Dean off.  “Thanks for the motivation.”

     “Anytime,” Dean said with a smirk.  Removing his ruck he tossed it over then, holding his arms straight out for balance, walked the ladder like a tight rope.  Jumping off the end onto the roof he raised his arms above his head with a flourish.

     “Show off,” Wu muttered, dusting himself.

     Shouldering his pack Dean, joined Seph at the edge of the roof looking down onto the scene below.  The streetlight had gone through the third floor window, putting it directly beneath them.  Wu edged as close as he dared, snatching small peeks over.  “How we gonna do this?”

     “Get down to the room it broke into and make our way to the truck.  Seph first, then you.  While you’re shimmying down, Seph snags the keys from the glove box and gets them to you.  I'll come last and drop down into the bed.  The truck may not start right away and I'll hold them off until we can get going.”

     Wu blanched at how many zombies now walked the street.  He glanced over at Dean who was standing right on the edge, the tip of his boots hanging centimeters over.  “Can you hold off that many?”

      Dean remained silent, continuing to stare at the street.  Fatigue ran its fingers down his spine, sending a numbing tingle through his limbs.  Two shifts in one night on top of all the healing and fighting was taking its toll on his strength.  The pit stop to regroup and eat had helped, but was hardly a substitute for actual rest.

     Time to find out what I'm really made of, he thought.  This is just getting started.

     Glancing over he realized Seph and Wu were watching him, still waiting for an answer.  He patted the khukuri’s sheath.  “I'll hold them off, you focus on getting the truck started.  Get us moving, but don't drive stupid.  Last thing we need is to wreck.”

     “No shit,” Wu agreed.

     The lightning increased in intensity and frequency, thunder right on its heels, as they approached the door leading down into the building.  A gust of wind brought with it the first scent of falling rain.  Dean tried the handle and found it locked.  When he held out his hand, Wu gave him the crowbar.  Slipping it between the door and it's frame he put his weight behind it.  The old door, already loose and rusted from the constant exposure to the salt air, popped open with a minimum of effort, the knob falling apart with a clatter.  Passing the crowbar back to Wu he drew the khukuri and brought the light back out, holding it lens down.

     “Follow me in Wu.  Seph keep a good look out, we're gonna be relying on you pretty heavily to be our eyes.”

     Seph nodded and climbed up the wall until he clung to the roof of the stairwell like a large bat.  Descending the short flight of stairs they found the door at the bottom lying on the floor.  The building had gone unused for years.  There were no walls, only support pillars.  Remnants of the homeless that had found their way inside littered the floor.  Beer bottles, a pair of stained old mattresses, used food containers with the mummified remains of meals gone by.  A thick layer of dust covered everything.  Orienting himself on the flashes of lightning coming from the broken window, Dean cautiously walked over to it.  If the homeless could find their way in, so could the Zeds.  They didn’t need any more surprises.  A few feet from the shattered window he paused and cocked an ear.

     “What is it?” Wu whispered, coming to stand beside him.

     “Listen.  You hear that Seph?”

     “Helicopters,” He answered from just outside the window.  “Can't see them yet, but they‘re definitely coming this way.”

     “Military?” Wu wondered, a trace of hope in his voice.

     “Don't get excited man,” Dean said, clicking off the light and putting it and the blade away.  He raised the swagman's brim and peered out the window, rain tapping against the leather.  The lightning was frequent enough to give him a good view of the zombies moving mindlessly about the street.  They were everywhere, but spread out enough to hopefully give them the time needed to make it down.  “I doubt they're here to help anyway.  Probably recon or something.”

     “Hey, you can't blame me for wanting to see a bunch of strapping young lads with assault rifles.”

     “Got me there,” Dean said leaning further out the window before stepping back.  “Seph I want you down in the cab, grab the keys and stick them in the ignition.  While Wu gets the truck going I need you to work with me and keep the Zeds away from the cab windows.  Try to watch both but,” he pointed at and locked eyes with the gargoyle, “focus on keeping Wu clear.  Don't worry about backing me up.”

     “But what if-”

     Dean cut him off, “No buts Seph.  Do it.”  Seph sighed, nodding reluctantly as he started down the shaft.

     Turning to Wu, who was placing the crowbar and cleaver in his backpack, Dean said, “I get you have the whole fear of heights thing, but you can't hesitate.  The rain should help cover the sound of you going down, but we can't rely on that and once they notice us, they're gonna be on us like Marlon Brando on souffle, so shag ass.”

     Wu walked up to the window and climbed onto the streetlight, straddling it.  Fat droplets now came down in earnest, the streets growing even darker as the clouds completely obscured the moon.  Staring straight ahead Wu slid down, gaining speed slowly as the water slicked down the cold metal.  Dean watched his progress intently; Seph's red eyes followed from the roof of the truck.  Three quarters of the way down, they both tensed as he suddenly slipped to the right nearly falling off.  Tightening his legs around the pole he was only able to halt his descent momentarily before his legs slipped free.

     Dean drew the Glock and leaned as far out the window as possible while holding onto the frame with his right hand, sighting below Wu's feet.  Wu kept his grip with his arms, legs swinging like a pendulum beneath him.  The tips of his feet and the base of the Odachi's bundled scabbard passing within a hairsbreadth of a passing zombie's head, a flash revealed the gleam of bone where the scalp had been torn away.  As they started to swing back Wu clenched his abdominal muscles and raised his feet back up to the pole, crossing his ankles over the top.  He came to a halt just over the truck's roof.

     Relying on Seph to cover Wu, Dean climbed onto the pole and started his descent.  The weight from the pack made it not only extremely difficult to keep his balance but also increased his speed dramatically.  Limbs wrapped tight enough to cramp the muscles in his back, Dean fought to stay on top as he quickly sped down.  A cry rose over the noise of the storm, quickly joined by others.

     The zombies had spotted them.

     Wu already had his pack off and was climbing into the cab through the open sliding window.  Dean let go, falling into the bed of the truck, landing on his side with a grunt.  He quickly loosened the straps and slipped out of them.

     Standing he turned to face the oncoming mob and drew his weapons.  His skin crawled at the sight before him, the undead rushing in from all directions.  Fear hit him like a taser to the spine.  For a brief moment he was unable to move as they closed in, their eyes pinpoints of sickly greenish-yellow light.  Whatever force that caused them to rise after death gave them the eye-shine humans lacked.

     As the first zombie reached the tail gate, half crawling, half falling over it, Dean felt something come over him.  His thought process differed depending on what skin he wore.  The human thought process more rational than the primal urges of his animal side.  Wolves acted; to freeze meant death.  Amber eyes closing in a slow blink it felt as if the wolf slid behind them.  His earlier transformations had opened a long closed door bringing the beast closer to the surface.  But the wolf didn't take over and drive him berserk, a mindless killer.  Wolves killed when survival dictated too and did so quickly.  When his eyes opened the fatigue washed away with the cool rain that drenched his clothes as Dean gave himself over to it, his mind merging with the wolf's instincts to become something stronger, lethal.  Blowing out his breath he released the anxiety that had filled him and hunched his shoulders, a growl rolling through his bared teeth.

     The zombie raised its head and reached for him.  Dean stomp-kicked his foot into the thing‘s face, sending it tail over tea kettle off the back of the truck in a spray of teeth.  Turning to check the cab he aimed and fired off a trio of shots, one per zombie pounding on the driver’s side window.  Wu fought with the ignition, the cool engine stubbornly refusing to turn over.  A tug on his pants brought Dean's attention away from Wu and in one motion he spun and shoved nearly every centimeter of the blade in the creature’s eye.  In his peripheral vision Dean caught glimpses of Seph moving from zombie to zombie, his tail snapping out like a scorpion to pierce them through the eye or mouth with the spear shaped barb, before leaping off to the next.

     With the wolf driving his limbs, Dean savaged any Zed that came within reach.  There was no need to restrain his base urges when dealing with these things.  The 40 cal. handgun barked between swipes of the blade, the khukuri’s leaving limbs and snapping heads in its wake.  Dean tried to track how many rounds he had left in the magazine, but having to shift his focus from kills to keeping the grasping hands that reached into the bed of the truck away from his legs, screwed up his count until the last shot locked the Glock's slide open.

     Finally, with the growl and shudder of a waking Grizzly, the engine turned over, headlights blazing to life.  Scrambling to reload, Dean was thrown to his knees when the Ford lurched forward.  The truck may have been old, but there was still a lot of life left in it and the engine, once started, would not be stopped.  Tires squealing, the truck plowed through the crowd, crushing any not immediately knocked aside under its tires.

     “Alright back there?” Wu called back.

     “I'm good,” Dean panted, leaning back against the cab.  “Seph?”

     “Right here,” he said, poking his head through window.  Seph's still hardened body glistened with rain water and zombie blood.  “Good shooting by the way.”

     Ejecting the empty magazine into his lap, Dean slapped the full one home, and chambered a round.  “Not hard to miss when their inches away and not trying to dodge.”

     “Which way?” Wu asked, steering around several zombies.  “When you said the gun shop behind Ala Moana, I assumed you meant the one on Kaheka.

     Pushing the swagman off his head so that it hung down his back by the leather wind cord, Dean put his face in the window.  “That's the one, take a left here to Kapiolani, it'll be faster.”

     “Not that way,” Seph said, hanging upside down from the oh-crap handle above the passenger window.

     “Why not?” Wu frowned.

     “More buildings, more Zeds.  Take Ala Moana Blvd., its right along the beach so there should be less people.”

     “Good call kid,” Dean said.  “Take this next right Wu.”

     “Yes'm Ms. Daisy I get you to de sto,” Wu said taking the turn sharply enough to cause the truck to fish-tail.

     “Hey!” Dean exclaimed, righting himself.  “Less fast, less furious there Andretti.”

     Wu grinned.

     The rain slackened to a light drizzle as they came out onto the street Seph had suggested.  The night was suddenly filled with an intense red light as a flare streaked skyward from the mall.  Moments later came a loud roar as a large helicopter passed over them low enough that the downdraft from the rotors could still be felt.  Seph came out and joined Dean in the back peering upward.  “Its landing on the top level,” he said pointing.

     Dean scowled.  Who the hell could possibly be up there?

     Seph watched as the chopper landed out of sight, touching down for half a minute before lifting off again, angling back in their direction.  His eyes widened as he saw struggling forms clinging to the bottom of the helicopter.  As it moved away from the shopping center, zombies continued to follow, struggling over the wall surrounding the fourth level and plummeting to the parking lot below.

     Overhead the clouds parted, allowing the light of the full moon to once again shine down.  Now even Wu could make out the helicopter as it headed their way.  Dean watched its approach, a look of surprise coming over him at the continuing sound of gun fire.  Watching the tracers he realized they weren't shooting the door gun at zombies on the ground but the shots were being fired inside the chopper.  Flying low it passed overhead a second time but instead of continuing on it stalled, hovering in one spot.  Dean and Seph could only look on in confusion that quickly passed from shock to anxiety to downright panic as it began to spin, and quickly gaining speed, head right back for them.

     “Wu!” they shouted simultaneously, “Faster!  Furiouser!”

     Glancing up Wu's eyes flew open as the whirling blades angled downward and filled the rear-view mirror.  Too shocked even to curse he floored it, the truck surging forward.  They started to gain some distance when Seph and Dean heard Wu curse and call out their names.

     “What?”

     “In front of us!”

     “I think our main concern is back here!”

     “Not any more it isn't!”

     They turned around and Seph began firing out expletives like an assault rifle on full auto.  “Aw fuck me,” Dean muttered under his breath.

     Filling the street ahead a wave of zombies surged toward them their eyes glowing brightly in the headlights, trampling and scrambling over each other.  Wu met Dean's eyes briefly in the rear-view mirror, “Do I go through them?”

     Dean felt gooseflesh pop up all over his body at the sound of the blades slicing through the air.  Glancing back he saw that the small lead they had gained was quickly being eaten away by the out of control aircraft.  Dean looked around quickly before sticking his head back into the small window, shouting to be heard above the noise from the chopper.  “Take us left when I give the word!”

     “Into the parking lot?”

     “We're gonna cut through the mall!”

     Wu shot Dean an incredulous look over his shoulder.  “We're driving through Ala Moana?”

     “You wanna live forever?”

     Laughter filled the cab of the truck.  “You’re freakin' nuts!”

     Seph grinned down at Dean from the roof of the truck, “Him no nuts, him crazy!”

Dean matched Seph's enthusiasm with a wolfish grin of his own.  “Give the word when it's right on our asses!”

     “You got it!”

     The truck barreled forward to meet the oncoming horde; the sound of the rotors now drowning out even the zombies.  Wu kept the gas pedal floored, pressing down on it with his foot so hard that he lifted himself from the seat.  The helicopter drew closer and closer until it was only a few meters behind them and Seph cried out, “Word!”

     Dean waited for a breath before barking, “Now!”

     Wu cranked the wheel hard to the left, tires squealing as they hit the curb and bounced up and over it, narrowly missing the bus stop benches lined up along the sidewalk.  The rotors scraped the rear bumper in a shower of sparks.  Wu's head slammed up against the roof and Dean, with Seph clinging to him for dear life, was nearly catapulted out of the bed when the rear tires hit.  To his credit Wu regained control of the vehicle, narrowly missing several cars before hitting the back end of a sedan, sending the truck into a spin.

     “Sh-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-t!” Wu bellowed.

     “Son-of-a-bi-i-i-i-i-i-i-tch!” Dean howled.

     “YE-E-E-E-E-E-E-HA-A-A-A-A-A!” Seph cheered riding Dean's back, wing flapping.

     Turning into the spin, Wu straightened the truck out and brought them to a halt.  Dean sat up and looked behind them.  The rotors were turning the horde into a fine mist, body parts flying everywhere.  Clipping one of the trees in the median the chopper finally hit the ground rolling over and over as it steam-rolled the zombies, flattening them beneath its unrelenting weight.  Shrapnel from the blades breaking and bending against the street as well as parts from the helicopter itself shot through the air like shuriken when the chopper exploded.  Dean's head jerked back as a line of fire burned across his left cheek.

     Touching his hand to his face he hissed as it came away wet.  Closing his eyes Dean took a deep breath inhaling slowly until his lungs were filled to capacity.  He took the pain and gathered it together like red-hot razorwire.  Holding his breath for a moment he shoved the pain out with a long slow exhale.  When he opened his eyes no sign of the hurt remained in them or in his body language.  A small moan came from inside the cab.

     “Everybody in one piece?” Dean asked.

     “Oh shit!  You okay Seph?”

     Dean spun around and saw Wu helping the gargoyle up off the floor of the passenger side.  A billiard ball sized hole now punched in the windshield.  Wu helped him to the seat where he collapsed on his side.  Reaching in Dean lifted him out and set him in his lap.  “Get us moving, I'll take care of him.  Head over to that coffee place on the corner there.  There should be a passage that goes straight through.”

     Wu nodded and pulled forward, trying not to jostle Dean while he tended Seph.  Seph held his hand to his head, skin still hardened, eye lids clicking when he blinked.  “I think something hit me,” he said, sounding distant.

     Dean passed the flashlight over Seph looking for any sign of injury.  “You hurt anywhere?”

     “I don't feel anything.  Just dizzy.”

     “Hold on, jumpin‘ another curb,” Wu tossed back.

     Cradling Seph, Dean braced himself as the truck bounced.  The engine echoed in the passageway as Wu increased speed, passing shop after shop.  Another noise began to compete and Dean's head snapped up.  More zombies were coming down the corridor.

     Wu shut the head lights off and suddenly turned left, parking under the escalator that ran up to the second floor and killed the engine.  They all held their breaths waiting.  Now that the engine was off the only sound was the scrambling of feet and hungry moans.  Drawn by the crash and following explosion, enough zombies to completely fill the passageway headed toward them.

     Slowly raising the Glock, Dean aimed at the zombies as they moved past, the runners quickly leaving the others behind.  Enough time passed that Dean‘s hand shook from holding the gun up for so long and the tension of waiting for one of the horde to spot them.  They just kept coming.

     The flow of undead began to slow, eased to a trickle, and eventually stopped.  Dean waited for a ten count before drawing a shuddering breath, which was echoed by Wu.  He was about to turn to speak to Wu when he paused feeling a change in the texture on Seph's normally smooth body.  Glancing around to make sure no more zombies were coming he pulled the flashlight back out, and cupping his hand around it, clicked it on, and then raised Seph's arm.  A shallow series of spider-web cracks on Seph's right side showed where he had been struck by shrapnel.

     Dean's gut clenched.  Jesus, if Seph hadn't been all stony just now, he'd be dead.

     “You can't feel that?” he asked.

     The gargoyle looked down and probed the area, tapping his claws against the damage.  “No,” Seph answered, his voice sounding clearer.  “Should I try and change back?”

     Dean set him down carefully and climbed out of the bed of the truck.  “Not yet kid." he turned to face Wu.  "Let's not risk running the engine until we're outside.  Get out and help me push, Seph get behind the wheel and steer.”

     Wu put the truck in neutral then climbed out the back window, preferring not to risk the noise of opening and closing the door, and joined Dean at the front of the truck.  Together they pushed and slowly moved the truck back.  An ear-to-ear smile split Seph's face at getting to drive finally, his injury momentarily forgotten.  Wu glanced over at Dean, his face seemed overly neutral, as if he were forcing his expression to remain blank; which he had learned meant something was really bothering him.

     “You’re worried about the hit he took.”

     Dean said nothing, just nodded once sharply, his head barely moving.

     “The little guy's tough, and the damage didn't look deep.  He'll be okay.”

     Keeping his eyes on the grill Dean swallowed slowly, “He better be.”

Who am I?

   In retrospect this probably should have been the first entry in my blog.  Truth is that it simply did not occur to me that anyone would be interested in the person behind the words.
   The entire reason I began this blog is that it was recommended I do so.  When I first started writing I bought an e-book called 'Building Your Fanbase' (I highly recommend it for any newb writers like myself.).  One of the suggestions was to start a blog.
   Now I was more than a bit hesitant to do so.  I considered blogs to be nothing more than online diaries (Although it should be noted that at the time I hadn't read any blogs other than Jim Butcher's, so I really had no idea what I was talking about).  Also I had no clue what in the hell I would write about.  I had difficulty fathoming anyone reading it in the first place (Outside of supportive friends or relatives.), and wondered if I had it in me to do interesting entries.
   In the end I started the blog because of all the different ways to connect with people recommended by B.Y.F., blogging was the only one that both interested me and I thought I could do.
   So as the bit at the top states, I decided to just blog about my attempt to write a book and get published.  Every entry since has been just that.  Whatever was on my mind at the time is what I jotted down.  So far it has felt awkward, like a pair of new shoes.  With a couple of exceptions the entries felt forced.  Like I was trying too hard.  I may have had my doubts, but if I am going to blog I want to do it right.
   Up to now my blog, much like the first few chapters in my book, didn't feel like me.  I didn't see/feel myself anywhere in it.
   Over this last week, since I couldn't do much besides edits and research, I decided to look at other authors blogs to maybe find ways to make mine better.  I ended up reading Kevin Hearne's blog from beginning to the most current entry.  It was great reading for two reasons.
   First, he is a fairly new author and did with his blog what I am attempting to do with mine.  He has documented his experiences with getting published.  What he's learned, the surprises, mistakes, and misunderstandings.  I have learned more about being an author and the publishing process in the last week than I have in the last six months.
   The second reason is that from the very beginning, every entry has the author all over it.  Reading it feels like I am talking with him.  It's so very personal.  His photo contests, nerdy/geeky references, the entries about painting miniatures.  All of it screamed, "I am Kevin Hearne."
   Now I knew what I wanted my blog to be.  I hate the idea of anyone reading this and having it come across as impersonal.  I want a piece of me in every line.
   In order to do that I needed to ask myself an important question.
   Who am I?
   See how I worked the title in there?
   Now once I answered said question came the hard part.  Telling you.
   Like many, if not all, writers and artistic types I am a writhing bundle of neuroses.  An extreme lack of self-confidence being one of the more prominent issues.  Again, I really had difficulty with the idea that anyone would have the slightest interest in me or my little pet project.
   In the end I just told myself I was over thinking things as usual and to just shut the hell up and do it anyway.  So here goes nothing.
   My name is Daniel Cortes and I'm thirty-mumblemumblemumble years old.  I enjoy most all things geek (Anime, comics, sci-fi, etc, etc.).  I prefer to go by my nickname 'Shakes'.  And before you can ask, I was given that nickname by a co-worker many moons ago due to a tremor I have in both hands.  At the time I hated nicknames, especially in relation to my tremor which I was sensitive about.  My hands were always in my pockets or tucked under my arms to hide it.  Having spent most of my life being picked on, bullied, and humiliated I was pretty oversensitive in general.
   The moment he called me Shakes I started to get pissed and took a breath to tell him off when I had an epiphany.  I could either keep getting pissy about the damn tremor or accept it and just tackle it right up front from now on.  So from that day forth I introduced myself as Shakes.
   Anyway back to the beginning.  I was born in Dallas, TX.  At the age of four my parents divorced and we moved to a town called Ewa Beach on the island of Oahu (That's in Hawaii, just FYI.).
   As most kids do I took the divorce pretty hard and since reality was turning out to suck, I sought surcease from sorrow in books.  The public library became my home away from home.  I threw myself into world after world.  Edgar Rice Burroughs, Jack McKinney, Peter Benchly (I was way to young to have read 'Jaws'.), became my friends.
   I didn't start writing until late in high school.  The urge was always there, but the confidence was lacking.  My first forays into writing were nothing special.  I had no direction and no friggin' idea what I was doing.  After high school I dropped it for awhile as I got lost in the adult world of work and bills.  Didn't start writing again until after leaving the military.
   I had three ideas that I was attempting to turn into novels as well as a few short stories, and still had no bloody clue what I was doing.
   As I have mentioned before I won't bother mentioning all my lame ass excuses, because that's all they really are is excuses, for quitting but a few years after leaving the military (I was living in Tucson, AZ at the time.) I gave up on writing.
The two primary factors were due to a major increase in depression brought on by a particularly bad relationship/break up that left me in a pit of self-pity and despair I had never before experienced.  I found myself for the first time seriously considering suicide.  I even slept with my gun next to my bed.
   The second reason was that a friend who claimed he was going to edit what I had so far (Grammar mostly.) showed off my writing to a few people we both knew, with my permission, as long as my name was withheld.
   Putting it mildly the reactions were not positive.
   Now though I only worked on my stories sporadically I did take my work seriously and poured myself into them.  A lot of the things I kept pent up, ended up in those works.  And to hear friends (The people I hung out with at the time were not shy about taking anything they didn't like and verbally ripping it apart, then taking those pieces and shitting all over them.) who did not know whose stories they were and listening to them tear my work apart was simply too much for me at the time.  Hearing it was like the world telling me, "FINISH HIM!".
   So seven years ago I took my dream of being a published author and slit it's fucking throat.
   Then came the fateful day I was introduced to Jim Butcher and a cool ass dude named Harry Dresden.  Reading the Dresden Files stirred up the coals buried in the ashes of my dreams cremated remains.  And after listening to the inspirational words of another cool dude named Kevin Smith I resurrected my dream and am now eight chapters into my first novel.
   A big difference between then and now is knowledge.  Thanks to Mr. Butcher and Mr. Hearne I have an idea of how to put a book together and a decent idea of what I can likely expect.  I still have the depression and confidence issues but am now, finally, doing something about them.
   The biggest difference is that I'm not doing this to get published.  While getting published would make me nut myself, and is a goal, I am doing this for me.  Regardless whether I am ever published or not I am going to continue writing.  I am sick to fucking death of looking back on my life and feeling nothing but regret and shame.  For never finishing what I start and being too much of a damn coward to take risks.
   I'm finishing this book, and as many more as I possibly can, even if it kills me.  I am going to give it my best and I hope you like it.  I hope it makes you laugh, cry, and everything in between.  And if not?  Then fuck it.
   I would rather be a failure than a coward.

     You can find me on Twitter @DCortes5150.  I hope to hear from anyone willing to do so.  Questions, comments, recipes, jokes.  All are welcome.

Edits, edits, and more freakin' edits.

   I think so far the aspect of this all that I dislike the most is the editing process.  Having to go over everything again, and again just gets so damn tedious.  I've started to lose count of how many times I've re-read what I have so far.
   Picking it apart for even the tiniest flaws, misspellings and errors.  Rewording, rearranging, or even completely rewriting some sections.  And word repetition.  Oh fuck, don't even get me started on word repetition.  I can't seem to get away from it.  There was a paragraph in chapter 4 that had the same word used five friggin' times.  The hell was I thinking?
   An upside to the editing and re-reading thing is that it allows me to see what the book is becoming.  Now that its been refined a few times and some of the rough edges sanded down, I can say that I am happy with how my little tale is developing.  With every round of edits it's really starting to read and feel like an actual novel.  A few times I've even caught myself forgetting that I am supposed to be making corrections and actually getting involved in what I'm reading.
   Unfortunately my editor is still out with his medical stuff, and due to other familial obligations and responsibilities,  he has been unable to return to editing with me and may not be able to finish the project at all.  Which will suck on toast because a) My grammar sucks, so those edits will be crap. And b) I will now probably have to pay someone to do the final editing.  Which is expeeeeeensive.  Not ridiculously so, but for a lives-paycheck-to-paycheck kinda dude like myself, its gonna be a big hit to the'ol pocketbook.
   Kind of a necessary evil though.  I'm so focused on the edits because I don't want people stumbling over what they're reading.  Nothing ruins getting sucked into a book like having to abruptly stop and ask, "What the hell does that mean?"
   I really want the story to flow.  To be as polished as I can get it before tossing it out to the wolves.
   Before I leave you this time I have a small announcement.  I have finally selected a section of the book to use as a teaser.  Once the edits to it are done I will make it available.  Hopefully in the next week or so.

Research & Development

   This is my first blog post from my new smart phone so I apologize if the errors are more rampant than normal.
   Haven't made much progress.  Partially due to health issues and partially due to straying outside of my research zone.  From the prologue to the end of C7 the book stayed in the area I had initially looked into.  Now that I have moved past it I find myself stuck until I learn the new one.
   One of the surprises for me in this go round at writing is the large amounts of research I have had to do.  Before I just sat down and wrote.  The world was a fictional one purely dreamed up in my imagination.  I didn't need to do research (I stupidly thought at the time.) if I made it all up.  Now having started this project and going into it with the mindset of 'research good' I may chafe at the delay some times, but I like the depth it gives my story.  Sometimes I find myself doing hours of research simply for a line or two.  But it seems that making sure you have that line or two sounding right or simply being accurate is the difference between your book reading like an amateurs first draft and having it read like a real novel.
   A little research can go a long way.  Not to mention in this age of information people can, and will, find any and all mistakes and will be happy to broadcast them to everyone else.  An hour getting your shit straight can save you a lot of headaches later.
  I have also dipped my toes into a technique that I may keep.  When I found myself at a research stand still I became frustrated with it.  I still wanted to write damn it.  Some writers can skip around their creation lah-de-dah when they get stuck and just come back later.  I am not one of those.
   I have found however  that I may be able to skip books.  I have been chomping at the bit to get to the second book.  Story wise that's where I want to be.  So as an experiment I went ahead and wrote the prologue for the second book to my current project.  I may keep at it because while the first book is still my primary goal and focus of my efforts, there really isn't anything story wise that's going develop that I can't keep track of.  AND it will give me a head start for when the first one is done and I can shift my focus to the next project.  Finally got to introduce a character I have been really looking forward to, and can't waitto do so regularly.

The fine line between weird and just plain nuts...

     This morning I sat here in front of my laptop organizing files and folders for the book I'm writing and other future projects and found myself working on character bios.  Some current, some to-be.  One of them is the mother of the protagonist in my current project.
     Her name is Norma.
     I have given a lot of thought to this character because while she won't spend much actual time in the series (At least as far as I have planned so far.) her presence will be felt quite a bit.  Norma is not a nice person.  In fact one might describe her as a raging cunt.  I don't normally like to use that word but if the shoe fits.  Through her cruelty and neglect she has inflicted things on the main character that will reverberate through out the series for quite awhile.  So far her character has solely existed only in my mind.  I've dredged up some pretty nasty things that she is going to do.  And for some reason beginning to fill out that character sheet I actually found myself experiencing a genuine emotion toward the character
     Hate.
     Or to be more precise, anger.  Taking that step toward making the character "real" made me think of every nightmarish thing I am going to have her inflict on Dean and I truly began to hate the bitch.
     The moment I realized what was going on I had to stop and reflect on the oddity of it.  Here is someone who does not never has, nor ever will, exist.  A thing of pure thought that I created, doing things that I have her doing and I despise her for it.  So here's the thing... did I just take a step closer to insanity or does that mean I am on the right track?  I've read of other authors becoming emotionally attached to certain characters, or at the very least claiming so, and personally doubted the validity of such a thing.  I mean having genuine emotions for something purely fictional seems a bit daft.  Can you really feel for something that doesn't exist?
     I think the answer is yes.  Using the 'Dresden Files' as an example I have become attached to the people Jim Butcher has brought to life.  The emotions I experience while reading them are not any less true because they don't actually exist.  So why wouldn't I feel something like that for the ones I create?  I want you the reader to feel what I feel when I read the works of others.  To laugh when they laugh, cry when they cry, love when they love.
     I feel like something happened to me at that moment.  It was one of those times that you look back on later and say, "That's when it changed.  From then on I was altered."
     I think I just became a real writer.

I get by with a little help from my friends...

     FINALLY finished off chapter seven.  So far I have probably struggled with that chapter more than any other thus far.  I have to give credit to a couple a different sources for it.  One is a guy I work with who with a simple idea got me to pump out nearly a page.  The other is a long-time friend who got my creative juices flowing simply by letting me talk.  It really is a lot of fun to simply jabber about what I'm doing.  Talking shop with another writer or even someone who is creating something of their own can inspire like no other.
     It was also nice to be able to throw ideas and concepts that I have been keeping from my other guinea pigs (I mean beta-readers.) simply because I don't want to ruin anything and I need their feedback unbiased. Telling my buddy everything was kind of an experiment that ended up being a rousing success.
     The high I got talking his ear off about it sustained me through a pretty rough week.  Ended up with an ear and a tooth infection that left me pretty hopped up on some groovy pain killers.  Which I normally would have enjoyed (The pain killer part, not the infection.) except it made writing anything more than a little difficult.  Kinda hard to jot stuff down when the words keep moving.
     Never turn down any source of potential inspiration.  I'm not saying show off what your doing to everyone you can, that's how ideas get stolen, but don't spurn telling someone just because they don't seem like the "ideal" candidate.  The non-reader buddy you talk to may hit you with an idea or concept that would never have occurred to you otherwise.  The guy I work with just made an offhand comment and I got around a page out of it.  And when you haven't written jack shit in over two weeks a page is a lot.
     Also follow your favorite authors or writers online.  I follow several on Twitter and have gotten words of encouragement from some.  Recently Kevin Hearne (Author of the Iron Druid Chronicles, which I can't recommend enough.) posted some words of encouragement about word count and when I thanked him I actually heard back.  If I ever make it in this business I plan to take a page out of Mr. Hearne's book and actually respond to my followers.  Anything I could do to help a fellow newb like his simple words helped me would be passing on a kindness that has far reaching effects.
     I would like to thank Mr. Hearne not only for writing some hilarious and entertaining books but for remembering the little guy and setting an example of what an author should be.